


Such a Dog

by St4r_Chi7d



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dog Collars, Drunk Wilbur, M/M, Puppy Play, Rape, Smut, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26994313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/St4r_Chi7d/pseuds/St4r_Chi7d
Summary: Tommy should have stopped Wilbur from having so much to drink.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/TommyInnit
Comments: 178
Kudos: 474





	Such a Dog

**Author's Note:**

> I would just like to say this is literally my first ever smut of any kind so I apologize if its bad :/
> 
> But I had a lot of fun writing this, so enjoy!
> 
> -
> 
> Follow me on Twitter for updates on stories :) @ProblematicSimp

Three days. 

His parents had been gone for three days. Tommy was staying with Wilbur for the week while his parents were out on vacation, and he couldn’t have been more thrilled. 

Things went unbelievably well at first. The two drove a few hours to meet up with Tubbo the first day, spent most of the daylight recording videos the second, and hung around the house lazily the third. There was a good four or five days left until his mom and dad returned, so Tommy wasn’t too worried about wasting time. 

But now, as they sit at the kitchen island together, Tommy wished his parents never dropped him off.

Wilbur was shit faced. He was absolutely wasted as he slouched over the counter. What started as a funny joke became the older slamming down shots like there was no tomorrow. 

The musician giggled lightly, clutching a bottle of Sunset Rum to his chest. “You’re so bad at this.” 

Tommy cringed violently as he dropped his glass back to the table. Wilbur had convinced him to take a shot, and he was trying desperately not to gag. “It burns, Wilbur,” He coughed, “I don’t drink all that much.” He’s never had a drink before, but he wasn’t about to tell him that. 

“You should,” Wilbur leaned forward, hand grazing the boy’s gently. Tommy didn’t think much of it, but the contact alone was enough to send shivers down the olders spine. “Your face gets all red when you drink. It’s cute. You’re cute.” 

Tommy reeled back the slightest bit. The slurred words twisting his stomach in a way he did not like. He decided not to comment, hoping- praying it was a drunken slip up. 

Wilbur did not like the silent reply. He grabbed the empty glass from Tommys hand and poured him another drink. “C’mon now. Do it for real,” He slid it in front of the teenager. “One gulp.”

“I really don’t want to.” Tommy gently pushed the cup away, watching as his older friend moved his chair impossibly closer. “I’ve already had two, I don’t want a third.”

Wilburs eyes locked on Tommys. He opened his mouth to say something, but paused as he almost tipped over. He had downed nearly ten shots, and his body was beginning to sway. His breath stunk of the alcohol, and every little movement seemed either amusing or infuriating. Tommy couldn’t understand why.

The soft padding of paws came from behind them, prompting both to turn. 

Wilburs dog had made his way into the kitchen, tail wagging happily. Wilbur looked almost annoyed by its presence before his frown contorted to a grin. His eyes held a devilish glint as he leaned down. 

He ran his hands through the coat, mumbling praises to the animal before reaching towards its neck. Gently, he unclasped the black collar, laughing as his pet bounded off towards the living room. 

Tommy shifted in his chair, ignoring the full glass on the table in favor of Wilbur. Something about him-about the way he clutched the collar, grinned down at him, and the malevolent look in his eye-made him uneasy. He got the feeling to run, but he had nowhere to go. Besides, Wilbur was one of his best friends. He would trust him with his life if he had to. 

“Tommy, C’mere.” Wilbur motioned vaguely for him to lean forward, holding the collar up to show his intentions. 

“No way,” Tommy shook his head, laughing nervously. “I’m not putting on a  _ dog collar- _ ”

“No, no, It’ll be funny!” WIlbur insisted, trying to extend his arms forcefully to put it on. 

Tommy pushed his hands away hesitantly. “I don’t want to, dude, seriously.” 

Wilbur sat back, looking Tommy up and down. His gaze was harsh, and his earlier giddiness was replaced with frustration. His drunkenness only fueled his terrible mood swings.

“How about this,” Wilbur hunched forward, faces nearly inches apart. “Either put the collar on, or take two more shots-  _ not  _ including the one in front of you.” Either way, Wilbur thought, Tommy will be impaired enough to make things easy.

Tommy swallowed thickly. It took everything he had not to push away from him, his words carrying a foul odor. Both options were revolting: One resulted in him getting either drunk, sick, or both, and one resulted in his dignity being removed. 

“Fine.” He ground out. A spike of fear shot through him. The man in front of him was taller. Stronger. Superior. And he was on the brink of anger Tommy did not want to see. “I’ll put on the stupid collar.” 

Wilbur smirked, hands reaching out to wrap the leather strap around his neck. At some point, he decided he wasn’t close enough, so he stood. Now towering over the boy, his fingers nimbly brought the collar behind Tommys head and began buckling the front. The blonde's face was almost pressed to his chest due to the newfound height difference. 

Tommy looked up at Wilbur, confused as to why he was taking so long to buckle the thing. He could feel his fingertips on his skin, occasionally falling off the leather as if he were struggling. 

And struggling he was. Wilbur tried with all his might to finish the task at hand. He’d been wanting to see the child in this since the day he came to his house, and the anticipation was too much 

Once the collar was on, Wilburs breath hitched. His hands fell from the collar to his bare neck, trailing his fingers across the exposed collar bone, up his neck, under his jaw. He paused on his Adam's apple, scratching the smallest bit. 

Tommy froze. This was wrong. This felt wrong. It felt invasive and unnecessary, and yet he didn’t speak a word. He only watched as an intoxicated Wilbur studied every inch of his skin, eyes darting around it like an artist would on an empty canvas. 

They made eye contact. Tommys fearful, confused gaze met Wilburs hungry, muddled one.

Suddenly, Wilbur grabbed Tommys face, pulling the teenager forward and smashing their lips together. It wasn’t gentle and caring, but rough and needy. Tommy pushed aggressively on the others chest, eyes wide with shock, but a harsh hand on the back of his head forced him to stay put. 

The blonde only fought harder as Wilbur shoved his tongue into his mouth. It was disgusting. Vile in the worst way.    
  


When Wilbur finally broke away, he had pulled Tommy off his chair and was slamming him against a nearby wall. 

“Wilbur- Wilbur get off!” Tommy choked, frantically swatting at the older man. 

“You are such a  _ brat  _ Tommy, you know that?” Wilbur growled, hands pressing into the smaller’s shoulders. “I’ve taken such good care of you this week- I’ve cooked for you, housed you, clothed you- and you don’t even have the decency to thank me.” 

Tommy, in a fit of panic, lifted his palm and jabbed it into Wilburs nose. 

Wilbur stumbled back and clutched his face. He could feel the beginning drops of blood catch the rim of his nostril. His eyes snapped open just in time to see Tommy push off the wall and rush for the kitchen exit. 

Needless to say, he didn’t get very far. 

Wilbur caught up with him in two swift strides, grabbing him by the arm. He turned, slamming the teen up against a counter with a malicious grin. 

Tommy cried out as his back collided with the marble, hands flailing recklessly. Tears pricked the edges of his vision as his friend pinned him down. 

Wilbur raised his hand, bringing it down on the boy's cheek. The sound of the slap rang out loudly, stopping Tommy’s fighting in its tracks. The brunette admired the bright red hand print forming on the soft skin. 

“You know, Tommy, I was going to be gentle.” Wilbur snarled, head still light from the amount he’s had to drink, and snatched Tommy’s wrists with one hand. “Maybe let you enjoy what’s coming.”

Tommy hiccuped as Wilbur brought his other hand down to his jeans, cupping the teens dick. He whimpered lightly, eyes wide. He thought the other was going to beat him- not this. He never expected Wilbur to be an angry drunk. 

Wilbur only grinned, pressing harder into the material. He leaned down so his lips just barely grazed Tommys quivering ones, the blood from his nose smearing on the blonde’s face. A ripple of laughter washed over him at Tommys ragged breathing. 

“Wilbur don't do- Move your hand, please.” The kid didn’t even try to fight anymore, hot tears running down his face. It was cute how fast he had given up- how fast he accepted his fate. “Just stop, you’re drunk and-and- Mmf!” 

Wilbur shoved three fingers into Tommy’s mouth, relishing in the feeling of the younger’s tongue. “Shut up,” He growled, hand trailing up from his pants to his hips. He hooked a finger in one of the belt loops, tugging viciously. He didn’t bother to try and unzip them, instead pulling them roughly from his body and letting them drop to the floor. This left red, stinging burns along Tommys skin. 

Tommy openly sobbed around the digits down his throat. The disgusting feeling of drool dripping down his chin egged on the tears. He had half a mind to bite down, but he knew it would only bring worse treatment. 

“Don’t cry,” Wilbur spat, raising the hand he used to rip off his pants and taking hold of the dog collar on his neck. He pulled Tommy forward brutally, pressing their bodies together. “You’re acting like you don’t want this- like you haven’t been teasing me all week.” 

Tommy shook his head as his chest shook with sobs. He reached up and smacked at the hand around his collar pathetically. His body was already weak from the small amount he had to drink, and the constant crying wasn’t helping. He babbled some incoherent pleas, worsening the tiny stream of saliva down his chin.

“Getting dressed with your door cracked, pulling your shorts up  _ right in front of my face,”  _ Wilbur huffed, dropping his head to be level with Tommys hysterical expression. “You’ve been asking for it since you got here. And now,” He dragged his tongue up Tommys chin, cleaning off the thick mess. Wilbur felt a pang of arousal shoot through his gut at the high pitched, muffled keen the boy let out as he invaded all boundaries. He removed his fingers from Tommys mouth as he neared the blonde's lips. “You’re going to finish what you started. You’re going to act like the  _ dog  _ you are.” He kissed him again, indulging in his own wants and disregarding the fact Tommy didn’t return it. 

The taste of iron filled his senses, and he smiled as he realized his fingernails must’ve cut the inside of Tommy’s mouth. He could feel Tommys tongue trying to avoid his while he mixed their spit. 

With a hand still clutching the collar, Wilbur ran a finger down the front of Tommy’s boxers, earning a sorrow-filled shiver. He placed his knee between the boy’s legs, feeling the teens erection on his thigh. “For someone fighting me, you’re pretty hard.” He grumbled as he broke from the kiss. “I wouldn’t expect any less from a mutt like yourself.” 

Tommy let out a feeble whimper, screaming at himself internally. He felt dirty, disgusted by his body’s reaction. How could he? What kind of a person is he now? Now that he got hard by actions this deplorable? He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to look at himself in the mirror after this, knowing his body had been begging for it. 

Wilbur removed his hands from the boy, releasing his collar. Any semblance of relief this brought the blonde dissipated as they were placed on his shoulders. 

Tommy’s knees buckled as Wilbur shoved him to the tiled floor. His back was to the cabinets, and the other’s long legs caged him in. He sat on his knees in surprise, looking up at Wilbur through tear-coated lashes. 

Wilbur couldn’t help but grin at the bloodshot eyes below him. Knowing that he did that- he made the blonde so worked up only aroused him further. “Alright,  _ pup,”  _ Wilbur hissed, pushing his hips forward more so Tommy’s nose was against his obvious bulge. “You’re a teenager. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of  _ movies _ . You know what to do.” 

Tommy, eyes wide, shook his head, trying desperately to back away from the legs in front of him but was stopped by the counter. “Wilbur please don’t make me, Wilbur, I’m sorry I’m sorry I don’t know what I did but  _ please, Wilbur, please-.”  _

A hand fisted the blonde's hair aggressively, snapping his head back to make eye contact with his attacker. “ _ Don’t know what you did?”  _ Wilburs words carried anger Tommy didn’t know he was capable off. Each syllable slurred together as the alcohol coursed through his veins, and the stink was starting to give the child a headache. “You know  _ exactly  _ what you did. This is no one's fault but your own, Tommy. Not mine, not your parents,  _ yours. _ ” His grip in the hair tightened to emphasize his point: “And I swear to god, if you don’t suck me off well enough, I will kill you. I’ll fuck you until you can’t breathe and bury you outside. You better satisfy me, dog, or there’ll be hell to pay.” 

He let go, allowing Tommy to droop his head again. The boy wailed quietly, looking up at the jeans in his face. He tried to determine if being assaulted or murdered was better: A question no one his age should have to ponder. With trembling hands, he reached up to unzip the pants, attempting to think of anything but what the other was making him do.

The younger’s hands were swiftly slapped away, causing him to flinch back. He looked up at Wilbur with confused, glossy eyes.

“Dogs don’t have hands.” Wilbur stated, scowl twisting into a wicked smirk. “Use your teeth.”

Tommy sobbed loudly, chest tight as he hunched over the slightest bit. Every muscle in his body refused to move as his eyes drifted back to the zipper. His hands reached up to claw at the leather dog collar around his neck, swearing it was interfering with his breathing. He stopped himself before he could touch it, knowing it would only enrage the drunken man above him if he tried to remove it. 

He leaned forward, opening his mouth the smallest bit to catch the gold link in his teeth. The bulge grazed his chin despite his desprete attempts to avoid it. His constant hiccuping and chest heaving sobs made it difficult to get a grip, but after a few moments of struggling his front teeth clamped down on the metal. 

Wilbur shivered as one of the layers around him was removed, watching with amusement as Tommy struggled to lower his jeans with no hands. Eventually, he was left in his undergarments, and Wilbur was beginning to get impatient. 

Tommy paused, staring with fear at the outline of Wilburs dick. It was more prominent now that the only thing between it and the boy was a thin piece of fabric. Panic was morphing into terror and dread the longer this went on. 

He reached up to pull down the man's boxers, but froze as he remembered the look in Wilburs eye. Right now, with the drinks clouding his judgement, Tommy had no doubt Wilbur  _ would _ kill him if he didn’t follow along. 

He snagged his canines on the waist band around his hips and tugged, closing his eyes in a futile try of ignoring what was inches from his face. Scratch that,  _ on _ his face. The moment the briefs were pulled away, Wilburs cock slapped his cheek.

Tommy recoiled violently, only succeeding in hitting his head against the cabinets behind him. Even with his body pressed all the way back, the head was still touching his face. There was no escape. There was nothing he could do but sit there and take it. Tears fell harder as the realization of how hopeless he was set in. 

Wilbur grabbed Tommy’s face by the chin, paying no mind to the snot and tears spread across his face. In fact, he found it adorable. Adorable how he thought he could run. Adorable how he thought he could get away with the teasing actions. Adorable how he had accepted defeat so completely. “Open your mouth.” 

Tommy clamped his lips shut, breathing through his now stuffy nose. He shook his head ‘no’ ever so slightly, pleading with Wilbur through his eyes. 

“If you want to act like a brat,” Wilbur took his thumb from the chin, shoving it mercilessly into Tommy’s mouth and prying it open. He held his jaw open and in place, having no trouble in holding the others head straight despite his jerking. “Then I’ll have to treat you like one. I’ll have to re-train you.” 

He grabbed his cock, positioning it in front of the struggling boys mouth, and pushed in. He took his thumb out, observing Tommy under him. His dick was about a third of the way in his mouth, and he could already feel his head pressing against Tommy’s throat. “Hurry up, mutt.” Wilbur moved forward the smallest bit, further caging him in. “If you don’t do a good job there's going to be consequences, do you understand me?” He wasn’t going to genuinely injure him, but Tommy didn’t need to know that. 

Tommy, fearful of what would come to him if he didn’t, timidly bobbed his head. He took in what he could, leaving about half of Wilburs dick out. The bobs were uneven, his tongue doing everything in its power to not touch the intruder. He wouldn’t open his mouth wide enough, not wanting to strain his lips or jaw, so his teeth were constantly grazing the flesh. He was more worried about keeping himself as comfortable as possible than he was making Wilbur feel good. The whole thing was extremely unsatisfying, and felt more infuriating than pleasurable.

“Oh for god's sake, Tommy,” Wilbur grumbled, hand reaching down to rest on top of the blondes head before thrusting harshly. He paused once he could feel Tommy’s nose against his stomach and hear his frantic gagging. It was music to his ears. 

The boy tried to pull back, but quickly realized his head was flat against the wood behind him. His hands came up, wildly smacking and scratching at Wilbur's thighs. He could see the marks his nails were leaving, bright red against the milky skin, but the older didn’t even flinch. His head throbbed from the persistent tigger of his gag reflex, giving everything a floaty feeling. 

Wilbur, having no care for the suffering boy beneath him, began to drive into his mouth. As he nailed his skull into the wooden storage units behind his toy, the man grunted animalisticly. He could feel every inch of Tommy’s throat, loving how it contracted around him as the other choked. The muffled screams of protest and pain-filled sobs only seemed to encourage his actions until he was pounding into the wet cave relentlessly. 

A guttural groan rolled out of his mouth, pleasure enveloping him.

Tommy weeped, allowing his neck to go limp and resting all his weight behind him. Tears flowed down his cheeks rapidly, partially from his own sorrow and partially from his gag reflex. The constant abuse of the trigger caused his muscles to spasm in his throat, bringing the boy more pain. 

That's all he seemed to know at the moment: Pain. The pain of having his throat violated. The pain of being hit when he did something wrong. The pain of being degraded and forced to wear a dog collar. The pain of knowing his life will never feel the same after this, and that his friend might never be held responsible for their actions.

He wasn’t sure what to do. Girls are always taught how to avoid these situations: Keep your head down, don’t say anything that could be interpreted as teasing, if he attacks you hit him in these specific spots. Tommy was never taught what to do if someone older than him touched him; exploited him. He was stuck with no idea how to escape the claws of the villainous man above him. 

His chest burned, begging and pleading with Tommy to take in some air. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t talk. All he could do was give muffled and desperate howls and hope Wilbur would free him, if only for a moment. 

Wilbur, having noticed the sudden decrease in shouts and beating on his legs, looked down curiously. A spike of delight shot through him at the sight. Tommy was slumped against the island, wet eyes fluttering desperately as he tried to stay awake. His hands tried to pick themselves up from the ground to continue fighting back, but the lack of oxygen made that impossible. 

He placed a hand on top of Tommy’s head, pulling out for just a moment. He admired the thick string of saliva connecting the boy’s stretched, red lips to his dick. That, combined with the shiny look of his cheeks as old tears dried and new ones took their place, made him look like something out of a porno. Wilbur realized as he panted that this is what he had wanted all along. All those nights jerking off to thoughts of the teen weren’t a mistake: it was a fantasy sober him was too scared to commit. 

Tommy leaned forward and began to cough fiercely, gasping for air between. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, causing his trembling to worsen. His throat was sore from the sobbing and assault, urging him to wrap his hands around his neck. He could feel the collar resting there, and he had the thought to rip it off. 

“Relax, Tommy, you’re being over dramatic.” Wilbur mocked, reaching down and pulling him up to his feet by the hair. “It wasn’t that bad.” 

The weakened boy nodded in disagreement, blubbering some incoherent words. His hands clawed at the ones fisting his hair, whining in pain. The tears never stopped falling, Wilbur noticed, and he wondered how he hadn’t run out. 

Huffing, Wilbur snagged the collar on Tommys neck and led him across the kitchen. The teen stumbled, trying to keep close to the other so he wouldn’t be strangled. His bare legs bumped into drawer handles, forming small bruises and scrapes. Wilbur paid no mind to the melecolloy whimpers, and instead stopped him once they reached the other counter. He pulled out a drawer, searching through it impatiently until his hands retreated. As he closed the box with his hip, he held up the item: A bottle of lube. 

“Don’t want to hurt you, do we?” He joked, giving the collar a harsh tug. 

As his eyes landed on the bottle, Tommy immediately pulled back. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to have his first time ripped from him; to have his innocence shredded. Wilbur already took his first drink, first kiss, first blowjob. He would have nothing left to give him after this. 

“Wilbur please, just let me go, I won’t tell anyone I promise, Wilbur, I promise just don’t do this.” He babbled, slapping sadly at the grip on his collar. He should’ve taken the drinks instead: At least then he could’ve held some dignity. 

“Do you ever shut up?” Wilbur placed the bottle down, using his now free hand to slip under Tommy’s shirt. He took a moment to appreciate the softness of his skin, how clear it was and the bumpy feel of his rib cage before sliding it over the boy’s head. The idea of the teen being completely nude while he was still clothed sparked something inside him; The situation adding to the power dynamic. 

He spun Tommy around, bending him over the counter aggressively. The sound of the boy’s small gasp as the cold marble connected with his hot skin made him shudder. Wilbur leaned over him, pressing his chest to the others back. 

They were touching from the knees up, making Tommy squirm the slightest bit. His breathing was rapid and uneven, panicked face flat against the counter top. The new angle of his head forced his tears to fall across his cheeks as opposed to down. 

Wilbur, using his now free hands, grabbed the bottle and popped the cap. The sound was barely audible, and yet it seemed to echo impossibly loud in Tommy’s head. It was the first step of many he would have to endure of this painstaking process. 

He felt a finger trail down his spine, tracing his bone until it raced over his ass and dipped between the cheeks. It prodded his entrance, and Tommy let out a violent sob. “No, Wilbur, don’t touch there-  _ please  _ please just stop, just stop…” He trailed off, his voice hoarse from crying and throat sore. 

As if he was deaf, the older didn’t acknowledge anything being said. He observed the boy, watching how he squirmed and wriggled, trying feverishly to escape his grasp. It wasn’t going to happen, they both seemed to know that, and yet he never stopped fighting. Even though the attempts were weak and pathetic, it was almost admirable how far adrenaline can force you. 

He slid in two fingers, not bothering to let Tommy adjust, and began to scissor him right away. Wilbur wasn’t doing this for Tommy’s pleasure. He had no intent to make the child feel good. His only thought was what would bring himself the most pleasure, and how he could make that happen. 

If he could, he would rail Tommy right then with no prep. Stretch him and tear him up from the inside. Nothing made him more aroused than the prospect of fucking Tommy so harshly he couldn’t sit down. However, he knew if he were to hurt him bad enough that the injury lasted until his parents returned, it would end in chaos. 

Tommy gasped at the new feeling, pain shooting through him. It felt terrible; the jagged, uneven movements of his hand unfamiliar and distressing. His brain seemed to be running a million miles an hour and yet he couldn’t pull a single thought. “Wilbur no, take them out!” He cried. 

A vicious hand came down on his head, smacking him so hard his vision blurred for a moment. “ _ Dogs  _ don’t  _ speak.”  _ Wilbur growled, annoyance evident on his face. “The only thing I want coming out of your mouth are moans, do you understand me?” 

They both knew Tommy would not be moaning. 

Wilbur, having decided he was finished with the half-hearted prepping, removed his fingers. He knew for a fact the boy was nowhere near stretched properly, nor would things be comfortable because of it. Needless to say, he didn’t care. He grinned, actually, happy that his hole would be tight around him. 

Tommy jolted as Wilbur placed the head of his cock against the boy's ass. His tears fell harder, a new wave of terror and dread crashing over him. His stomach twisted and dropped as understanding began to set in. Understanding that his window to fight back had closed, and the moment he’d been fearing was inching closer. 

Without warning, Wilbur pushed himself in, bottoming out without a care in the world for the screaming, crying, and wriggling boy under him. He groaned softly, relishing the feeling of Tommy’s walls clenching around him. He always thought virgins felt the best, but goddamn did teenagers feel better. He gave a light thrust, testing the waters and sighing heavily at the pleasure. 

Tommy’s throat felt as if it were bleeding. He had screeched so loud and harshly his throat felt like it was cut with glass. His chest burned as he continued to let out all air in incoherent, shouted pleads and begs. 

It hurt. It hurt so bad. Pain erupted from his lower body, licking up his spine like flames. He felt full in a way he never had before;  _ violated  _ in a way he never had before. With every movement Wilbur made, he could feel himself stretch. And the worst part was that he was completely and utterly helpless. He was at the mercy of the older man and he was giving none. 

Wilbur began to pound into him, wasting no time to set an agonizing pace. His grin spread across his entire face as he laid a hand in the middle of Tommy’s back for support. “What’s wrong, Tommy?” He teases, leaning closer to the weeping child. “Is this not what you expected? Not what you thought would happen when mommy and daddy dropped you off?” The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed at the end of every word. Wilbur growled primally, fingernails digging into the soft skin beneath him as he gripped his hips. 

If he was sober, maybe he would care about leaving injuries. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for  _ years. _ ” He pushed as hard as he could on the back of the boy, pressing him completely against the cold countertops. “Do you know how many times I’ve jacked off to your videos? How much effort it took to control myself on streams? Fuck, I even downloaded something on your computer to have access to your camera.” 

Tommy openly sobbed, the thought of someone he considered his best friend watching him at all hours of the day ruined his mind. How could he not see it sooner? Was he stupid, or had Wilbur just hidden it too well? He cried out again as Wilburs hand trailed up to his hair and tugged, eliciting a painful throb in his skull.

“Speaking of cameras,” Wilbur’s voice was extremely happy, and Tommy wanted to cry harder at the connotation. “Look up! On top of the cabinet! I completely forgot Niki put in security cameras a while back. Say cheese, Tommy, smile. This footage goes right to my computer.” 

Tommy’s eyes flickered up towards the large rectangle resting on top of a cabinet. It was pointed right at the counter Tommy was bent over, its black lense staring at him intently. Part of him thought it was judging him; looking down at him for the disgusting action he was committing; For not fighting back harder, as if he wanted it to go this far. 

He inhaled sharply, saliva dripping down his abused lips as he cried. He folded his arms in front of him, burying his tear-stained, red, fucked-out face into them. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. He didn’t want anyone to see him, period. He just wanted this to end. 

Wilbur was not happy with how Tommy hid himself from view. He scowled, pausing his thrusts for just a moment. His hand slid down from the blonde’s hair to the collar, pulling him up so he was forced to stand awkwardly. His giant fingers wrapped around the kids neck and began to choke him, resuming his thrusts from this new position. The only thing holding Tommy up against him was the hand on his throat, and Wilbur was in love with the sight. 

Tommys hands hovered above his, as if debating whether or not to claw at the thing restricting his air flow. His knees shook violently, wanting to collapse but not being able. His eyes bloodshot, teary and wide. Mouth open just the slightest bit in shock. Wilbur turned a tad to the left so Tommy’s ruined face was right in the line of the camera. No doubt would he go back later and watch the clip, screenshotting his favorite frames. How could he not when the boy looked so beautiful?

His brain felt like it was floating. The lack of oxygen blinded every sense besides touch. Every connection the two shared- from the fingertips pressing into his airway to the cock slamming into his hole- felt like icy hot fire. Everything ached, and it seemed like this torment would never end. 

His vision began to darken, lungs crying out harder than he was for any crumb of air. His mind was foggy, the only thing on his mind being  _ survival  _ and  _ agony.  _

Wilbur noticed how he was starting to go limp in his arms, and he released his grip, shuddering as the boy gasped and gulped for air. He was too distracted by the gift of breathing to notice how much rougher his thrusts were, but when he did it was gorgeous. 

Tommy looked up towards the ceiling, silently praying to any god that would listen. His nose stung with the stench of alcohol as Wilbur grunted next to his ear. Opening his mouth wide, he took a deep breath. He should’ve done this from the beginning. It was the only thing he hadn’t tried, and a part of him thought it might bring him a savior. 

He cried for help. 

He yelled so strongly his chest rattled inside of him. His eyes were squeezed shut as he hollered. Called out for anyone, anywhere to help him. Save him. Take him away. 

The only response he got was laughter. 

Loud, bellows of laughter exploded behind him. The pounding stopped as Wilbur laughed in the face of his victim. 

He grabbed Tommy by the hips, slamming him back down to the counter. This time, he railed him with no hesitation. There was no thought as to how much longer he would last, or how he could savior the moment and torture the child further. All he cared about was his own release. 

“Calling for help? Look around you, Tommy. There's no one here.” Wilburs laughter sounded unhinged as his hips stuttered. He was getting closer to climax, and he wanted to fill the boy up as much as he could. “It’s just you - you’re all alone. Nobody cares about you. Nobody cares about you like I do.” 

Tommys eyes were locked on the intricate design of the marble, following the swirls in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the words coming from Wilbur. Somewhere in him, he knew they were true. 

“Fuck, Tommy.” Wilbur moaned, holding onto his waist for dear life as he thrusted one last time, cumming deep inside the teenager. “You’re  _ pathetic. _ ”

He stayed like that for a while, listening to Tommy's soft crying as the white liquid dripped down his leg. Wilbur couldn’t help but sway, a wall of exhaustion from his drunkenness hitting him. 

He pulled out, moving Tommy’s hips so his gaping, used asshole as in view of the security camera. He couldn’t wait until morning. This night gave him another month's worth of content until he could ruin him again. 

The moment Wilburs dick wasn’t inside him, he dropped Tommy, allowing him to crumble to the ground. He looked down at the hard, crying boy with pride.  _ He  _ did that.  _ He  _ destroyed him.  _ He  _ made him cry.

“Take care of yourself. You aren’t worth my time, or I’d do it for you.” He nodded in the direction of the teens leaking cock. He grinned wildly, pulling up his pants. “Clearly, you liked it.” 

With an aggressive stumble, Wilbur dragged his drunk body out of the kitchen and towards his room. His mind was blurry from the drinks, and his new goal was to sleep. What he just did is a problem for sober Wilbur. 

Tommy curled up into a tight ball on the kitchen tile. All he could do was sob. Cry his heart out as his best friend left the room. 

He brought his hands up and tore the dog collar off his neck, taking one look at it before chucking it across the room. How could he do this? How could he let himself be used, degraded, and beaten? 

Maybe, Tommy thought, he was a dog. 

  
  


\--------

  
  


Wilbur groaned, the sun shining directly in his face. He sat up reluctantly, rubbing his eyes as his head throbbed. God, what happened last night?

Oh.  _ Oh. _

It hit him like a ton of bricks. He really did it. He fucked Tommy. Ruined him. And with a dog collar no less. 

A malicious smile spread across his face as he remembered the security camera. He hopped up, pulling out his computer chair and clicking on the software. He needed to know if it was as amazingly brutal as he remembers.

As the video of drunk wilbur pounding into a sobbing, pain-riddled Tommy played on screen, he knew it was. 

He closed the tab, and walked out of the room. He could hear noises in the kitchen, and he smirked. 

As he rounded the corner, he saw Tommy aggressively scrubbing a plate. He must’ve made breakfast for himself. It made sense, as it was almost noon and his caretaker had just rolled out of bed. 

“Hey, Tommy.” 

Tommy whipped around, eyes wide in terror. 

“What's wrong?” He asked innocently. “Did you miss me?” 

Tommy swallowed thickly. “Do you remember last night.” It came out as more of a statement, the fear coursing through his body influencing all of his thoughts. 

“No.” He lied. He knew Tommy. He wouldn’t rat him out, even if he said yes. He was scared. Scared of him, of what people would think, of not being believed. Tommy was nothing but a scared, sad child, and that made torturing him all the more fun. 

Tommy stiffened, seeming torn over his choices. 

“Did something happen?” Wilbur pressed, suppressing a smile and giggle at the other’s conflict. 

“No,” Tommy turned back to the dishes, praying Wilbur didn’t see the tears welling in his eyes. He did, and it made him want to leap with joy.

“Nothing important.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed :) and before you go and comment about how this is gross or whatever I really don't care. You're the one who clicked on this fic. If it bothers you that much then ignore it. 
> 
> But to everyone else have a great night!  
> -
> 
> Follow me on Twitter for updates on stories :) @ProblematicSimp


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